The Adventure of The Missing Adventure
by L. W. Perry
Summary: Holmes/Watson
1. Description

Before I begin, may I just clarify that this is not for my collection of my and my companion's adventures. In this, there is no great mystery nor is there a unique example of my friend's great deduction skills. No, in here there is a very different side of Holmes, the side that was rarely seen by anyone aside from myself. It was here, somewhere between the morphine and chronic boredom, that Holmes' brow would relax and his eyelids would droop in hazy content. In certain instances, his demeanor would relax and that pompous smirk that so many had wanted to smack off of him would warm into a pleasant grin. It was here that his love of the violin lived and his fancy of me thrived.

This is an account of one of those instances.

Perhaps the modern world really would be better off not knowing the personal side of Sherlock Holmes, but perhaps not. Of course, I'd have to leave it to future generations, to wait until all of us are dead and gone, our stories forgotten and disregarded as mere fiction. I could never ruin my and especially Holmes' reputation like that. God knows how he'd react….  
- JHW


	2. His Exception

As I have stated many times before, love had always been foreign to Sherlock Holmes. There had been but one woman in his life and that woman, as you may know, was Irene Adler. Any and every time that her name was mentioned, Holmes' frame would stiffen and he would get that certain look in his eye. My friend did not like to be outdone, and by a woman, well the idea was a stab straight into his frigid heart. This however was not the sole reason that he had never loved a woman. The idea of intimacy, of becoming personally close with new people, particularly women with their changing moods and conniving natures, intimidated him greatly. Of course, he would never admit to this, oh no, he was far too smug for that, but I could see it in his attitude and especially in his cold grey eyes.

I, however, seemed to be his exception. I was always to be the exception, Holmes decided on that singular day when I innocently questioned about lodgings. At first glance, he knew enough about me to single me out. Holmes lived for his work and hated that which distracted him from it. I was the exception. Holmes believed that his art was better than any material reward and relentlessly insisted that his name not be connected to any of his cases. My chronicles and I were the exception. And Sherlock Holmes personally vowed to never love or engage in any such behavior. I was the exception.

My relationship with Holmes had always been an intimate one. Of course, when two people live together for as long as he and I had, it is to be expected. Sometimes, I believe that he would purposely get into a situation where we needed to conceal ourselves so he could pull me under a bed or into a cramp wardrobe. At first I didn't mind his unintentional advances, but then something in me (and to this day I am still not entirely sure what) changed and these little encounters became more and more awkward. Naturally, being Holmes, he noted my hesitation and stopped being quite so physical and resorted to a more subtle approach. From that point on there was less breathing down my neck and more of him playing sweet violin music while I was in earshot. There were less single-bed hotel rooms and more exclusive dinners in restaurants that were outside of the hotel we were staying at. I gladly welcomed the change in behavior and things stayed the same for quite some time and normality (or as close to it as Holmes could get) ensued. It wasn't until about a year or so after our meeting that things began to get different.

* * *

Next part is currently being finished and revised and soon this will be written again to make it a little more...Watson-y. Just wanted to get this up for feedback.

- L. W. Perry


	3. Coming Home

Arriving home is always exciting business, perhaps even more so for me. Most would call my situation unique. Being welcomed home to a gunshot or the outbreak of a chemical fire was simply a mere tradition when Sherlock Holmes is involved.

Sometime before my first marriage and after taking residency at Baker Street, the exact date closer to the former, I had taken a trip into the country to check in on a frequent patient of mine. Holmes had originally appeared dismayed at the news of my weekend trip, and Mrs. Hudson a bit worried, but he soon slipped back into the usual cynical mood that was upon him every time crime was scarce. During the long cab ride home, all the way to the street outside of 221B, I fantasized about the state that Baker Street, and Holmes, would be in when I returned. Visions of thrown cutlery and smashed dishes, poisonous gases running off the neighbors, the apartment a wreck as Holmes calmly pulled his bow across his violin's as if he was Nero witnessing the destruction of Rome, all played and replayed and replayed in my head. Getting out of the cab, I starred up at the facade with a weary smile on my lips. Baker Street was still in one piece. No furious policemen, no fires, no screams. I found the situation safe enough and dug around in my pocket for my key. The interior was as calm as the exterior and I began to take a sigh of relief, but as past experience had taught me, I couldn't leave it at that. It was far too quiet.

Before I could even finish that thought, a very red and very flustered Mrs. Hudson stepped out in front of me. "Doctor!" Her frail white knuckles trembled and her twitching fingers clung to a polished silver tray. She starred at me until I managed to free my hands and shoved it into my palms. "He hasn't left his room," said she, running a hand over her light hair, smoothing back fly-aways. "He's been making all sorts of rackets. Shatters, thuds, cries! It stopped only just this morning! He won't answer the door, even when I bring him his supper." She put her hands on her hips and shook her head. "Oh won't you please try to get through to him? It may put him in a better mood to see that you've returned...." She took back the tray and hurried out of the foyer.

"I'll see if I can coax him out," I said after her, taking my things and starting up the stairs, all seventeen of them.

"What would I do without you Doctor?"


End file.
